Sacrifice
by Quaintly Modern
Summary: Pre-movie. Cyrus talks constantly of the sacrifices made for greatness, and Kalina must learn just how great those sacrifices can be. Cyrus/Kalina and hints of Damon/Kalina.


Disclaimer: I own nothing. As a college student, that's pretty literal.

It's taken me forever to write this, so I apologize if it seems a little choppy. I would love you forever if you had suggestions for improvement, as I don't generally think this style is where I'm at my best. However, please don't review just to ask me why I chose to write about Kalina. I personally think she's fascinating, if completely and utterly messed up. I'm a little afraid that I've made her too victim-y here, which she is to be sure, but maybe not quite to this extent. Any thoughts on her characterization would be adored and rewarded with heaps of praise. Other than that, I hope you don't find this too utterly awful.

* * *

Kalina ran her fingers lightly along the binding of the Arcanum as Damon looked over the newspaper clippings and drawings covering the walls of their workshop. A step to the left. "He already has nine, which is the tenth?" A step to the right. He was talking mostly to himself, but Kalina shrugged anyway.

The papers on the wall rustled in the wake of his pacing. The two had been here all day, trying to piece together who (what) was going to be Cyrus Kriticos's next prisoner. Kalina wondered idly at what point in this process she would snap.

Damon sat down heavily on the stool across from her, resting his head in his hands. Exhausted from the battle that raged in old pieces of newspaper and long-dead names. "I think we'll have to go back to the library's archives, look farther back for violent deaths." A slight nod and Damon looked up, finally looked at her for the first time in hours. Finally _saw _her.

"You look awful." Immediately, his face turned a faint pink and he couldn't stammer apologies fast enough. He placed a hand on her knee and it felt hot, enflamed. Kalina mused silently, shame was a very warm emotion.

A wan smile. "It's fine, really. I'm just tired." Damon frowned at her. He was even handsome when he was unhappy. The corners of her mouth turned up wryly as she thought back to the morning. Her reflection in the mirror, unhappy and decidedly unattractive.

"We'll get him, you know. He can't do it." Kalina simply smiled at that, as Damon rose to leave. "I'll be back over if I find anything. Library closes at 10:00, right?"

"Yes, but Mitcham is working tonight. He'll probably let you stay later." She rose too, to see him out. Crossing the room, faces of the lifeless staring at their discomfort. Mocking them.

"Oh, yeah. Forgot about that." He paused. She could see the words before they left his mouth. "Kalina, about last week…"

"Forget about it," there was a little more heat in her voice than she liked. "It was a stupid idea."

Damon pursed his lips. "No, I overreacted. I just couldn't handle the thought of it. Getting insider knowledge from Cyrus himself is brilliant, I just can't stand the thought of you _with _the bastard. Really, I can't stand the thought of you and anyone but- but…"

Kalina nodded and closed the door before _that_ word could come out. Before it could shatter everything she'd worked so hard for. Her carefully constructed life, the uneasy silences between them that had to suffice because nothing was easy anymore, this hard-won truce with her heart, the few nights that she could sleep, instead of lying awake thinking of golden hair and noble intentions. That thought couldn't be voiced, because everything would break. _She _would break.

_Me_ had to be shut out just as the man who'd uttered it.

-

Midnight, but almost as bright as noon. The spells on the panels almost glowed, and Kalina knew if she put on her glasses they really _would_. The only sound to be heard in the house was Cyrus's even breathing. Every once in a while, she thought she could hear noises from the basement, but she knew that was only her imagination. Her imagination and her conscience.

Sighing, she gathered up the sheets around her and moved to the window. Or wall. Or whatever you called it in a glass house. Cyrus didn't stir when she rose.

Looking out at the bright night, she could make out the forest surrounding the house. No neighbors for miles. Isolated. "You and me both," she whispered and immediately felt guilty. Glancing over her shoulder, she eyed Cyrus.

Cyrus Kriticos: noted adventurer, collector of antiques, and imprisoner of souls. A second wave of guilt washed over her as she moved back to the bed. She thought of Damon and his clear, powerful convictions. He would never be here, naked in the bed of a man who kept souls under lock and key, never be _in love _with a man like that.

And that's when her world had fallen apart, the day that she had fallen for the older man's charms and affectations. She knew, rationally, that Cyrus didn't love her in return. Was, in fact, not capable. But she also knew she didn't care. She would die for this man, help him with whatever he wanted. And he wanted the _Ocularis._

It was hard, knowing her devotion was pointless. But it was there, all the same. Dog-like and pathetic and undying. She had no idea when it had started, when her hatred had turned to this awful obsession. It seemed one day she had complete control of her life and the next she was in Cyrus's bed, willing and eager and wanton. It disgusted her when she thought of it too much.

Movement in the corner of her eye. Cyrus was stirring in his sleep and she sat back down, stroking his arm until he quieted. Even then, she continued to run her hand over him, feeling and looking in the moonlight.

-

"Kalina, are you alright?" Damon looked at her worriedly, all kind brown eyes and concern. She wanted to scream.

"I'm fine, just a little tired." She shrugged, and he seemed placated. Turning back to the book on the table, his blond hair glinted in the sunlight. He was a creature of sun and Kalina always thought his work out of place. Apollo should not tread in Pluto's realm.

"If what you're saying is true, Cyrus is going after Horace Mahoney in two nights," she nodded. "That'll be The Juggernaut, then. Twelve ghosts if he can pull it off," an affirmative hum. "He'll never get the thirteenth, though. Even a bastard like him couldn't pull it off," silence. Damon looked up at her once more. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine." It bordered on a snap, but she flashed a weary smile. "Just worried."

Damon took her hand and squeezed, "Don't be, Cyrus won't get away with this."

Another weary smile and a prayer that Damon was wrong.

-

"Kalina!" Cyrus's voice sliced through the air. She flinched. The doors opened, and he stepped into the library, well groomed, impeccably dressed, and seething. "What are you still doing here? Rafkin will arrive any second and you know what will happen if he sees you." Hissed speech, clenched teeth.

She stood up quickly, shoving everything into her bag. "I was just leaving. I-I needed to make sure I had everything for tonight." She moved towards the door and Cyrus caught her arm.

"Not still having second thoughts, are we?"

"No!" she gasped, "Of course not."

He sighed and reached out, holding her arm. "Kalina, you know why we're doing this. Greatness _requires_ sacrifice; I've explained this to you before." Cyrus eyed her carefully, and she gave a quick nod. "Really, this is for the good of everyone. Isn't that what you want?" She nodded again, and Cyrus let go of her reluctantly. "Alright then, go on. Make sure Damon and you are at the junkyard on time." With that, he was gone, ready to meet Dennis.

Kalina clutched the worn leather bag she always carried to her chest as guilt tied her stomach in knots. Cyrus had just ordered her to be _punctual _in bringing Damon to his death. Worse, she was going to obey.

-

Kalina and Damon watched from a stack of rusted cars as Cyrus's team burst into the junkyard. They bore matching frowns as the line of cars filed through the gate.

"Alright, so we need to find out where they're setting up the spells. They should be simple enough to disable." Kalina nodded as Damon reviewed their plan. At least, what he thought of as the plan.

He leaned around the car they were squatting behind, his hair catching the moonlight. Even without the sun he glowed. "It looks like they're setting up a few rows over. Are you ready?" Another nod. "Alright, let's go then. Be careful."

And as Damon looked at her with genuine concern, she could just hear the sound of Cyrus's men and her own half-deranged laughter, stuck in her throat. She _was_ careful, that's why this was all going according to plan. That's why Damon, kind, handsome, noble little Damon, was going to die. A sacrifice to greatness, as Cyrus had called it, the man that had set this all into motion. The man that would kill Apollo to become a God.

Kalina could only hope that her soul was enough to appease him.


End file.
